HELP! IÕVE GOT TOO MUCH SPERM!
Sperm! Sperm! Sperm! What am I supposed to do with all this
SPERM? I ran down to the bookstore and decided buying more porno wasnÕt
the answer. An hour after I buy porn at the bookstore IÕm back AGAIN,
because IÕm suffering yet another SPERM attack!
So I went to the WomenÕs Literature section of the bookstore
instead. (IÕve heard women can help with this problem IÕm having.) I read
lots of books by feminists but my sperm just kept building up. Pretty soon
I felt like I had sperm right up to my eyeballs! After that I couldnÕt read
anymore. At least with the porn I got some satisfaction. But the feminist
literature gave me no satisfaction at all!
Deciding to try a cold shower (again) I went home. On my way, I saw
a little girl in the street. I stopped her. I asked her if she could help me
with my sperm problem. But she looked up at me and told me I was a
Òsexual predator.Ó Then her boyfriend showed up and they both went off
and had sex in his car.
After my cold shower I decided to try again to find someone to help
me. This time, I found a woman. She said she could help me with my
sperm problem if I took her on lots of dates and paid lots of money for her
(to other people, of course, to Jewelers and Dressmakers and suchlike) and
THEN, when all that had been done, she would help me but I would also
have to do whatever she demanded for the rest of my LIFE!
(In retrospect, I suppose thatÕs why they give Ôchild molestersÕ a life
sentence, to make them equal to men whoÕve married women.)
Now this woman continued telling me what our arrangement would
be. In addition to having to suffer under a demanding and assertive wife
for the rest of my life, there would also be other (new) things in my life.
I wouldnÕt be able to sit around in my dumpster all day. IÕd have to get a
JOB!!! (And not collecting cans out of other peopleÕs garbage, either.) In
addition, I would have to change dirty diapers. And wash them too, so as
not to damage our environment with disposable diapers. And in addition to
that, I would have to mix lots of baby formula. I would also have to help
with the dishes every night, and IÕd have to learn what a Òvacuum cleanerÓ
is.
I would also have to spend LOTS and LOTS of time with children. At
first I thought she meant the cute 11-year-old girl next door, or the girl
who modelled lingerie and bikinis and bras and panties for an important
Mormon in Utah (see the April Ô97 Hustler for that (pg. 5). But no, I would
have to spend all my time with some snivelling, bed-wetting, diaper-
shitting kid, she said.
Listen, ladies. All I have is a sperm problem. IÕm not asking to do
dirty dishes and diapers. Did I say anything about dirty dishes and
diapers? WhatÕs the point of me giving up my dumpster if IÕm going to
replace it with a house full of diaper shit? God knows, I miss the toilet
enough on my own.
So I guess IÕll stick with the porn. It may not be much, but at least
it doesnÕt boss me around. Once I pay for it it sits there, very quietly and
politely, in my bed. The girls in it smile at me. They look good in the
nude. I donÕt have to hear about periods or menstrual cycles or unwanted
hair on the nipples or that one breast is bigger than the other, or that
sheÕs going to quit shaving her legs. No, the girls look great and they
smile very sweetly. A dog may be manÕs best friend, but porn is surely a
manÕs second best friend. As for Women, well, no offense ladies, but with
friends like you...
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 189
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Private Places
Chapter Two
Hesitantly Barbi stood, walked forward, turned, neatly, on her still
perfect heels, strapped so nicely to her ankles. Slowly she drew away her
hands and offered them a view of her wiggly bottom.
ÒOhhhh!Ó one of the wives gasped, her breath quick, indrawn, her
hand flying up to her mouth. There were welts on BarbiÕs ass, deep red,
that would take time and patience to heal. A week, perhaps less, no
lasting damage, but certainly more than sheÕd ever had before. I was much
luckier, IÕd been told by mistress, having just bright red marks. My cane
had been a thicker one, less severe. But it hurt just as much, in my
opinion! I did not even want to think about getting what Barbi had gotten.
She leaned forward a little at mistressÕ instigation and spread her hiney
cheeks to show how the cane had been used insidiously, brought down
parallel to her ass crack, to leave burny red marks within her parted
cheeks. It had been my job, weeping as I did it, to clamber onto and lean
upon BarbiÕs back, so that I could yank her ass open for mistressÕ Òspecial
cuts,Ó as she called them.
ÒI do not care to whip the bosoms, although, on girls as fine as
these, it is tempting,Ó mistress mused, tracing meanwhile the lines
within BarbiÕs wide-apart cleft. Her finger traced each ass-stinging line
most delicately, as if the slightest touch would have somehow harmed
Barbi, which, from the looks of her trembling face, it would have. ÒMen
like bosoms being whipped sometimes, but asses are always the favorite,Ó
mistress said. ÒSee how I place the cuts vertically, as well as
horizontally? That takes some technique, let me tell you. Most
whipmistresses simply strike there with the tip of the cane, which is
unbearable, and leaves unsightly marks afterwards, deeper than the
overall flagellatory pattern. I prefer everything perfect, each slice equal
in weight, so I avoid using the tip and instead have the girls hold
themselves open at the end, or let a friend do it, and I give them several
within their bunching bottomhalves to remind them that even their most
intimate, recessed parts are under my domination and control.Ó
ÒHow wonderful!Ó one of the husbands present exclaimed. ÒThis is
my mistress. She has threatened to see other men if I donÕt spend more
time with her! Certainly I neednÕt spend more time with her if sheÕs
thinking of me every moment IÕm gone, because IÕve had her marked with
hot stripes up her ass!Ó
ÒExactly,Ó Ms. Highbourne answered with a smile. The man peeked
into her towel-top, excited at the prospect of getting to see her nude, no
doubt, were she to undress to punish his mistress.
ÒSir, your eyes wander from your lovely lady,Ó Ms. Highbourne teased
him. ÒHas the necessary payment been made to my account, per our earlier
discussion?Ó
ÒIndeed, indeed,Ó the man replied. ÒI, David Jacobson, may not be a
man of honor, but I do keep all my accounts current!Ó
ÒIÕm sure you do,Ó mistress said, with a glance at master. He turned
his eyes ceilingward, a prince down on his luck, but certain, I was sure, to
regain it, and to avoid death from my father too, if I could keep him
occupied with my Ôtraining.Õ Dad would never find us here. A little town,
out amidst the veldt, shrouded in this spot by innocent-looking apple
trees. And Ms. Highbourne so proper, so excellently refined, so
impracticable a candidate for keeping little girls locked up in a basement.
One of the women made to speak.
ÒJust a minute, Maria,Ó Ms. Highbourne interrupted. ÒPlease undress
yourself first. You and your friend Sara are going to help these two girls
heal their bottoms. David, Jeffrey, fetch some towels for our young ladies
here, would you? Two for Barbi and Fury, who have just been punished,
and two for your own wives, who will need them after they too are
punished in turn!Ó Ms. Highbourne seemed to delight in calling the menÕs
mistressÕ wives, or, as I thought, Sara was in fact a wife of the man who
brought her, Jeffrey, for she wore a wedding band. They undressed with
nervous hands as Barbi and I stood wonderingly, still rubbing our poor
bottoms. Jeffrey and David gallantly got towels for us and laid them out
on two coffee tables for us. Two more were put on sofas for their wives,
whom they begged to be hit with a riding crop so that they might be
bruised. For this reason the men elected to give the girls places on the
couch.
ÒWell, if youÕre going to give your wives the couches, then get more
towels for these two,Ó Ms. Highbourne ordered. ÒIÕll not have them
uncomfortable!Ó More towels were fetched, laid out on the tables, until
each had a thick pad of towels upon it. The menÕs wives, not knowing what
to do with themselves when theyÕd finished undressing, laid down on the
towel-covered couches that had been prepared for them. Sara was a
brunette, with long, wavy hair, tied up neatly with ribbons into a pile atop
her head. Maria was dark-haired, but with porcelain-white skin, her body
light, her features frail. She lay down on her own towel with a kind of
resignation. I saw her shaking a little. She feared what was ahead.
The two menÕs wives or, if you wish, mistress and wife, had barely
lain down on their towels when Ms. Highbourne scolded them and told them
to get up. ÒWe share everything here, girls, including our necessary
troubles,Ó she told them. ÒPlease be kind enough to get some cream and
salve for these girlsÕ bottoms. YouÕll be needing them to repay you quite
soon!Ó The two wives got up and scurried from the room. Soon they
returned, under the watchful eye of their husbands, with creams taken
from the nearest bathroom. Barbi and I stretched out on our towels on the
cocktail tables. We lay face down, still rubbing our sore bottoms. With
gentle hands the pair of wives, Sara and Maria, sat lightly down beside us
on the tables, Sara actually sitting, while Maria contented herself with
squatting beside me. They lifted our hands from our bottoms and replaced
them with squirts of cool, rich cream. Then, to flinching squeaks from us,
they began applying their own palms to our butts. The cream was
wonderful, but every fingertouch sent shivers of reawakened pain up my
spine, as if I were being whipped again. It was different having someone
else touch you. Their mind controlled where the next touch would fall, and
it felt uneasy, being so scorched in back, and having someone else play her
hands over my nether cheeks. I whimpered. Barbi mewled like an unhappy
kitten.
ÒPoor babies!Ó Sara, who wore a wedding band and seemed the most
confident, her hair all pinned up in preparation for her whipping, said
aloud. She rubbed her hands with girlish determination over BarbiÕs
welted ass. Her boobs, hanging down most deliciously, wiggled like ripe
gourds, or fresh apples on the trees outside, big and plump and ready to
fall. I endured a bit more stoicly, I think, my bottom not as badly
punished. But MariaÕs hands were much less confident. She feared her
husband-loverÕs wishes. I could sense her fearfulness right upon the skin
of my creamed bottom, as her fingertips danced upon it, lightly,
uncertainly, her palms sometimes cupping my hinds as if to protect them.
At last she bent and kissed me right between my parted thighs. She stuck
out her tongue, teased my slit with a little flick.
ÒYou are so sweet,Ó I heard her whisper, more to my bottom than to
me, I thought. ÒPlease help me when I need it.Ó
ÒI will,Ó I answered. Then, impulsively, I arched my bottom up a
little, hoping sheÕd stab me with her tongue again. She did not. She lifted
her face, perhaps afraid sheÕd be punished more if our brief intimacy were
repeated, noticed by the others. She sat silently on her heels, waiting for
instructions. My bottom was done, all creamed. I lay my face more
comfily in my towel and sighed. At least my ordeal was over, though hers
had yet to begin. Men! They are so terrible, yet so necessary I think, for
otherwise bikinis and long well-brushed hair and new shoes and short
dresses would all be for nought. WeÕd all wear one-piece swimsuits for
the rest of our lives, and not care. WeÕd lie on the beach in the morning
and no one would come. No one save another one of us, and what point was
there in that, in the end, if there wasnÕt one of THEM, with his iron will
and his iron schlong somewhere, watching, waiting to pounce on a pretty
young girl like me and make me his own. Or at least THINK heÕd made me
his own. Men never really owned women, I think. We girls just let them
imagine they do, though sometimes they can be quite intolerant, and
demanding too.
ÒMay we undress also?Ó Jeffrey, who was perhaps as vivacious as
his wife, asked mistress.
ÒNo, dear,Ó mistress replied. ÒYou men must stay properly dressed
at all times. We girls are never to see your genitals. What you do with
them is, of course, your own affair. There are silk handkerchiefs and such
there on the table. Use them freely as you wish, but please do dispose of
them afterward. I do not consider it polite for my gentlemen guests to
leave remembrances of themselves lying about. I often clean up myself,
after a little party like this. Sometimes one must be discreet. Not all
men wish to have it known that they or their wives were here, seeing me.
An embroidered pair of panties might lead to dissolution of the
government, if it fell into the wrong hands. Such is life with politicians.Ó
ÒWell, we are on the other side of all that,Ó my master answered.
ÒSo you are indeed,Ó mistress said. ÒA failed drug lord, a banker
who does more laundry than even I do, with my impeccable discretion, and
a cop who crossed the line and canÕt possibly go back, hmmm, David?Ó
ÒJust hit her good and hard with a riding crop,Ó David answered. ÒI
felt like beating the shit out of her this morning when she told me she
wanted to see other guys. Some idiot at the bowling alley whoÕs 20, big
muscles, and she met a nerd too, the other day, studying to be a doctor,
whom she thinks will give her a gold-plated future. So you see, IÕm not so
bad. Instead of beating her up like any normal cop would have, being, as I
am, above the law, I brought her to you. IÕm a gentleman-rogue, or crook,
or whatever you want to call it.Ó
ÒA man,Ó mistress said dismissively, with a wave of her hand. She
sat down on the edge of a sofa and addressed us four girls. ÒNow I donÕt
want you to hate me for what IÕm about to do,Ó she said. ÒItÕs to train us,
all of us, to love our men more completely. When youÕve been trained
youÕll not think the slightest thing about cleaning the bathroom for him, or
washing his clothes, or giving up your career. It will seem as nothing
compared to what you underwent here. Come, stand up! LetÕs begin while
my wrist is still eager to do its work.Ó
Shuddering, their limbs stiff and hesitant, Sara and Maria were led
downstairs by Ms. Highbourne. Barbi and I dutifully followed, glad that we
had had our licks and werenÕt due for any more. The men disappeared, no
doubt to watch from somewhere, or perhaps to simply play cards round a
table, waiting for our return to them, spoiled with the crop for being
spoiled little princesses at home. The basement door shut, locking itself.
We descended into the cool basement air and smelt the waiting leather and
wood.
Maria was dealt with first, for she was clearly uncomfortable. I
watched with awed eyes as mistress hastened her to the trestle, strapped
her down without asking, and gave her six heinie-splitting whacks on her
bottom after shedding her towel. Mistress still wore her sexy police cap.
David had admired it wordlessly upstairs, wishing he could somehow make
her his partner in his patrol car on long, lonely nights. I wondered if he
were peeping now, rubbing himself to distraction as he watched mistressÕ
bouncing tits. Each inward stroke of the crop sent them flying, for
mistress used a vigorous approach to discipline, not sparing, when she
thought it appropriate. Maria, clearly, had misbehaved and needed
punishing so sheÕd be loyal to her man. Sara, in front of her, kept kissing
her face, her back, her long hair that flew about with every blow. Sara
tried to console her as best she could, for she knew she was next, and
would get it almost as bad, though more for her husbandÕs entertainment
than for punishment.
Gasping for breath, the girls were returned to their husbands. Each
kissed his wife, admired the welts, and then directed them to lie down so
that Barbi and I could attend to them. I noticed that the menÕs trousers,
which had bulged perceptibly upon their arrival, were now placid. Master,
though, still held a stiffness, as if heÕd been enjoying torturing himself as
much as watching us suffer. Mistress noticed his bulge also.
ÒLord Shaftsbury,Ó she said, her voice almost kind. ÒIt is time. She
will be staying with me, and there will be a party tomorrow evening. It
must be done now. It cannot wait.Ó
ÒAfter dinner then,Ó master said. He cleared his throat. He looked
at me. His eyes fell to the juncture of my thighs.
ÒNo. Now,Ó mistress said. ÒThe girls and I will be dining alone. The
maids will be here. Tomorrow night, you may return, to observe the party.
I will not keep her in my house this way. And you know it must be you.
You would never tolerate another taking her first.Ó
I glanced from my master to mistress. What were they talking
about? My hand fluttered at my throat. I tugged at my leather collar.
ÒItÕs time for you to earn your dog collar,Ó Barbi said meaningfully
to me. She moved close, touched her finger to my throat.
ÒGet down, down on the rug, I want you from behind, so I can go as
deep as any other man will,Ó master told me. I gazed at him. I was
standing, my hands wet with cream. IÕd been leaning right over to rub
MariaÕs bottom, my legs straight, standing up, enjoying mooning the men
with my small, pert behind. Now my laughter, which had been free and
easy as I massaged Maria, watching her jerk as I had not long, under her
touch, slipped away. Mistress came, touched my arm.
ÒHave her on a towel at least,Ó she said. ÒI donÕt want blood on my
rug.Ó
AND IN THE END...
LITTLE GIRLS AND MEN
ÒRaised as a feminist to distrust the male gaze, Hartley secretly
fantasized about dancing naked. After graduating magna cum laude
with a nursing degree from San Francisco State, she decided to become
a porn star. Since the early 1980s, she has appeared in more than 300
hard-core films.Ó
- U.S. News and World Report, February 10, 1997, pg. 47.
(Keep up the good work, feminists! -h.j.)
----------------------- Fuck Decency! -----------------------
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-END OF 189 EMISSION
- FD 188 also featured Chapter Two, not Chapter One, but I had so much
sperm I forgot to change it.